Chapter 20
The nearest church was Methodist and only a few blocks away. The streets were crowded with people dressed in their Sunday best to attend services, restless militiamen waiting for their summons to war, and packed wagons as some households decided it was time to leave the city.
Seeing how many were heading to the same destination as they were, Gordon observed, “The church will be full to overflowing. I assume this isn’t usual?”
“No,” Sarah replied soberly. “We aren’t the only ones asking God for some extra protection today.”
Gordon tried to remember the last time he’d been in a church. Probably it was when an old classmate, Daniel Herbert, had married in London the previous year. The ceremony had taken place in the very grand St. George’s, Hanover Square. The church they were approaching today was far more modest in design and materials, though the steeple had aspirations.
Since Callie and Molly were chatting together and Sarah had Josh’s arm, Gordon fell in beside Trey. The young man wore his militia jacket and carried his rifle and pack, ready to be called at any moment. He asked, “What outfit are you with, Trey? That dark green you’re wearing is similar to the rifle brigades of the British Army.”
“Exactly, sir! I’m in Captain Aisquith’s Rifles because I’m such a good shot. I’m the youngest in the company.” His voice lowered. “They think I’m seventeen and a couple of other boys are about that age, but I’m actually younger.”
“Maybe the other boys are lying, too?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Trey said, looking crestfallen.
“It’s an honor to be in such an elite group no matter what your age,” Gordon assured him. “But I haven’t heard anyone in your family mention that you’re in a company of sharpshooters.”
“I didn’t explain because they’d worry even more than they do now,” Trey said. “A lot of the militiamen will be stationed in the earthworks you worked on, but special troops like us will be sent out in advance. We’ll get to do real fighting!”
“There’s good reason why your family wouldn’t be enthralled with that knowledge,” Gordon said dryly. “Real fighting can lead to real dying.”
“I’m not going to be killed,” Trey said confidently. Seeing Gordon’s raised eyebrows, he added, “But if I am, at least it’s for a good cause.”
Hoping the boy’s confidence wasn’t misplaced, Gordon asked, “Where did you learn to shoot so well?”
“My father taught me. He said I was a natural marksman.” Trey looked wistful. “I miss him. It wasn’t right, him having my mother and Miss Callista as well, but he treated all of us well.”
“What about your half brother, Henry?”
Trey’s good nature vanished into a scowl. “He’s mean. A bully. I don’t think my father much liked him, but he was the oldest and legitimate, so my father had to make him the heir. Henry was mostly away at school in England, but when he came back, he was always after my family. My mother and Molly and I were all scared of him. That’s one reason I figured I should learn to be a good marksman.”
“Henry was dangerous?”
“Oh, yes.” The youthfulness left Trey’s expression. “He wanted to sell all of us, me, Molly, and my grandparents, to another island. On Jamaica, my father had friends who might have helped me and Molly for my father’s sake, but on another island, we’d just be more slaves.”
Gordon now understood how Trey had developed the tough-mindedness a soldier needed. “A good thing Miss Callista was there to take you all away.”
“She’s our angel,” Trey said in a low voice. “Without her . . .” He gave Gordon a hard look. “You know how special she is?”
“I do. I always have.” And she was becoming special in new ways now.
When they reached the church, they saw that soldiers were stacking their weapons outside, with a corporal from the City Brigade keeping watch over the weapons. When Trey hesitated, the guard said, “Don’t worry, no one will steal it. But you can’t enter if you’re armed.”
Luckily, Gordon’s pistol was concealed. Trey reluctantly laid his fine rifle on the far side of the pile between the other weapons and the wall, and they joined the rest of their party inside. The last pew on the right had space for the six of them, though it was a tight squeeze.
Gordon generally found church services boring, but on this particular Sunday, the singing was heartfelt and the atmosphere was electric with fear and anticipation. The silver-haired minister gave a rousing sermon based on a biblical passage about the Israelis conquering a much greater force.
The sermon was interrupted when a cannon boomed from nearby. A second shot sounded, then a third. Trey leaped to his feet, burning with excitement. “That’s it, the assembly signal from the courthouse!”
A clamor filled the church as voices cried out and people leaped to their feet. The minister slammed his Bible shut and raised his voice. “My brethren and friends, the alarm guns have just fired!” he roared, his trained voice cutting through the cacophony. “The British are approaching, and commending you to God and the word of His Grace, I pronounce the benediction, and may the god of battles accompany you!”
Gordon gave the minister top marks for drama and appropriateness. Trey was in the middle of the church pew, and he had to work his way past all of his family. He hugged the womenfolk and shook hands with Josh and Gordon. Then he was away, scooping up his rifle outside and heading off to assemble with his sharpshooter company.
Callie got to her feet and said in a voice that was almost steady, “Time to head for home now. We can keep praying wherever we are.”
Sarah also stood, looking very weary. “Can, and will.”
As they merged into the crowd flowing slowly toward the church exit, Gordon was behind Callie and saw her glancing around, her expression wary. He asked quietly, “Is something wrong?”
She smiled apologetically. “I keep feeling that I’m being watched. It’s probably just general nerves.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. I’ve learned to listen to my intuition.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe Henry Newell wouldn’t come all the way from Jamaica, but the warehouse business is here and there is a potential dispute about ownership. Might he have hired men to watch if you or the rest of the family came to Baltimore?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” she said uneasily. They moved through the front door onto the street, and she drew a deep breath of fresher air. “Thanks so much for giving me still more to worry about!”
He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder before releasing it. “I’ve always found that having many worries reduces the anxiety about any individual concern.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” She took his arm as he moved forward beside her. “What do we do now? I’ll go mad with waiting!”
The center of the street was full of militiamen streaming toward their gathering points. Like other civilians, their party drew to the sides of the street to let the soldiers through. “I’m not good at waiting, either. Usually if there’s action, I’m stuck in the middle of it, keeping my head down and trying to stay alive.”
“I’m glad you aren’t this time. I have enough worries.” Her grip tightened on his arm. “This isn’t your fight.”
Perhaps not. But it felt wrong to watch a boy who wasn’t yet fifteen go off to fight and perhaps die. “We need to keep busy, and one way to do that is to prepare for the worst. The worst won’t happen because there are a lot of troops here, they have more experience of the terrain than the British and better defensive positions, and many are Baltimoreans. They’re fighting for their homes and they’re as dangerous as cornered wildcats. But preparations will help keep us sane.”
Callie smiled. “In other words, busy is better.” Gordon agreed. Not only would busyness distract them, but it would help him keep his hands off her. The sooner this crisis was over, hopefully with a minimum of damage, the sooner he could move his covert courtship into the open.